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Through the night air floated the pleasant sounds of laughter, revelry, and music - though it was muffled by stone walls, that suited Meve just fine. She found these days she could no longer tolerate such raucousness - as much as she loathed to admit it, she was beginning to feel her advancing years in every which way, and that was part of it.
Yet this night, she knew it was not mere aged sensitivity; the party had stirred an old memory, growing ever more distant by the day, of her own coronation.
“Thought I might find you here.”
Meve was startled at the voice that called out to her, echoing across the cemetery - yet she quickly composed herself, taking a breath to slow the racing of her heart.
“Gascon,” she greeted somewhat breathlessly as he crossed the rows of headstones to the stone bench where she sat. She gave him a wry look, sharpening her tone. “Should not the Duke of Spalla be in attendance at the coronation of his new king?”
He gave a gentle chuckle. “I could certainly say the same of the Queen Mother. But both of us had better company in mind, I wager.” He grunted slightly as he sat next to her.
Gascon had long since grown into a man - indeed, Meve could see the slightest flecks of silver now peppering the rough stubble on the lower half of his face, just beginning to touch his temples. He was the same age now that she had been when they faced Nilfgaard all those many years ago - yet she knew she would never stop seeing him as she did then: a rough-mannered boy, facing down all the horrors of the world with a wisecrack and a lopsided grin.
Meve sighed. “I know this was necessary. It… my mind is not as sharp as it once was, and even with my spectacles I struggle to read the reports my men deliver me. My advisors do all they can to help, yet I forget what they’ve told me nearly as soon as they’ve said it. Yet still… I do find it difficult to celebrate Villem taking my throne.”
Gascon smirked. “Least it’s not Anseis.”
Meve snorted. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Oh, would you like to?” Gascon asked, reaching into his coat. “Have a drink, I mean. I pilfered a bottle of wine from the feast table before I left.”
She glowered at him - but could not keep a smile from curling across her lips. “I suppose they speak true when they say you can never truly tame the wilds from a stray…”
He took a long drink from the bottle before handing it to her. “Your efforts were admirable, but I’m afraid I shall always be a dog first and a duke second.”
She accepted the wine, drinking greedily from the bottle - it had been a while since she’d been in a position to do something so undignified. “Perhaps that’s just as well. My sons have lived with nothing but propriety… and look where it’s gotten them.”
“I’d say that’s likely just as much their father’s blood,” Gascon countered.
“Regardless of what it is… I worry terribly for the future. Temeria crushed beneath Nilfgaard’s heel, Novigrad gripped in the fist of Redania… Radovid VI will only prove a more terrible king than his father was, I fear.” She let out a shuddering breath. “And on Lyria’s throne to weather all this… Villem.”
“Lyria’s got me looking out for her as well,” Gascon assured her, gazing up at the stars above them. “You know I’ll put an arrow in the white eagle’s eye before I let it sink its claws in here.”
“I know, Gascon. It is just… Lyria has been under my watch all this time. It is hard not to fear what will happen when I am gone.”
Gascon nodded absently, staring ahead at the tomb they sat before. The stones had worn somewhat in the decades it had stood here, but it had been maintained with a care usually only afforded to the graves of royalty. She was unsure if it was the burn of the wine in her chest, but Meve felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes as they passed over the lettering, marking the tomb’s owner - REYNARD ODO.
“It’s been almost thirty years,” she whispered. “And yet still I… I miss him so terribly, Gascon. He has not walked these halls in so long, and yet in the past days… sometimes I find myself searching for him, desperate for his advice. All of this would be far easier to weather, were he still by my side.”
Gascon leaned forward, taking the bottle from her as she passed it to him. “Aye. I’ve often found myself wondering what he’d have to say - though I imagine he’d still be calling me a brigand or somesuch.” He chuckled.
Meve felt a single tear begin to trail down her cheek. “To this day my strongest regret is that I… I never did speak to him about how I felt. He went into the castle never knowing, and that… was the last I ever saw of him.”
Gascon was silent for a long time before taking a drink and passing the bottle back. “I think he knew,” he said with unusual solemnity. “Even if he didn’t - that he could serve you was enough. He went into the castle that day knowing his death was likely - but he went to it gladly, knowing it was for you. That was all he needed.”
Meve nodded, feeling a knot form in her chest. “I never dreamed of being anything other than Lyria’s queen… but since that day, some days it feels like all I can think of. If we had just run away together… If I’d never ordered him to go.”
Gascon watched her as she buried her face in her hands, drawing a few deep breaths to calm herself and hold back the deluge of tears that threatened to overwhelm her.
“But I know… he would have refused me,” she said with a soft laugh. “He would have gone into battle that day regardless of my order. That was who he was - that was why I loved him.”
She shut her eyes, feeling the chill of the night air against the remains of the tears on her cheeks.
“I do so hope I see him again someday, Gascon.”
They fell silent again for a long while, the distant sounds of the celebration once again filling the air.
After some time more passed, Gascon stood from the bench - and poured out the remainder of the wine bottle before the tomb.
In spite of herself, Meve laughed. “You know he would box you ‘round the ears for that.”
Gascon turned back to her with a grin. “I’d take it. Never was a man that needed a drink more than Reynard Odo - I’m sure that holds true in the afterlife. Probably still does his drills and marches every day.” He offered her a hand. “Come on, now - we should be getting back inside before you’re missed.”
“Right you are,” Meve said, taking his hand to stand from the bench - and feeling somewhat lighter this time as she did.